Counterculture

There is a common perception that the counter-culture movement of the late 1960's and early 1970's was primarily a period of exuberant youth seeking escape through 'dropping out', irresponsible idleness, promiscuity and illicit drugs. Without doubt there was plenty of this and being so visible and salacious it attracted the attention of the media and influenced the  lazy eye of history. It is overlooked that the perhaps risible revolt of youth was cynosure of a much broader and quieter reflection about the nature of man, community and work. This can be seen in the flourish of literature on these subjects. To cite a few:  E.F Schumacher, Herbert Marcuse, Charles A. Reich, Alan Watts, Theodore Roszak, Norman O Brown and Paul Goodman. The common theme of  these writers was to question the diminished quality of human life in the industrial state with its worship of efficiency, corporatism, consumerism and conformity. This led to a discussion in society of  alternative ways of organisation and enhancement of human consciousness, in the broadest sense, in living.  

From my comfortable position I participated in this discussion and it changed my outlook of life considerably. I also noticed how society was  picking up on some of these new ideas and incorporating them into mainstream living. One can think of a growth in interpersonal sensitivity, humanistic values, changes in the lives of women, sexual tolerance and a doing away of various stigmas arising from formal religions. The counter-culture movement, of course, failed in its raison d'etre of enhancing consciousness and freeing man from the fetters of the industrial state.  Society is still pretty much the same, and worse in some respects. The survival of the status quo was, however, inevitable and is shared to some extent by all idealistic and utopian schemes. What is disturbing, however, is that the notion of a counter culture no longer exists.  We seem to have capitulated and in doing so have lost our capacity to imagine something better. In this sense the 'System' has had a double victory. A society which does not dream is in danger of losing its heart. 

Robert Persig in Lilia has this to say:

'Of these periods (WWII to 1970; then present), the last two seem the most misunderstood. The Hippies have been interpreted as frivolous spoilt children, and the period following their departure as a 'return' to values, whatever that means. The Metaphysics of Quality, however, says that's backward: the Hippie revolution was the moral movement. The present period is the collapse of values.' (my parentheses) 

William Cowper

I am drawn to 18th Century English poet, William Cowper for his personality and poetry. He lived after a mental breakdown in his youth  in the care of friends in the English country side.  His semi-invalid life was punctuated with periods of  intense depressive suffering and, to use the extant term, madness. This fall from respectability of vocation and livelihood followed an attempt to take his highly sensitive soul and precarious mental state into the world of a law clerk. His poetry is the work of a sheltered being seeking through his endeavours to find meaning in the beauty of nature and the rhythms of a retired life. This is complemented with the enlightened and refined spirit of the marvellous century of his life.  So taking his simple materials to hand, his poetry turned to rural scenes, shrubs, trees, snails, rabbits, cats and  homely objects. One might surmise that his plain style was an attempt not to put too much pressure on his fragile nerves; not to force himself into something ambitious and grand. His subjects and his style created a lovely and timeless poetry. Cowper became one of the most beloved poets of his time and emerges from a bevy of 18th Century poets to be read in modern times. His letters are also delightful exercises in gentle manners and tactful sensibility.  I am lucky to have an 1835 fine bound collected edition of his works (Saunders and Otley) and it sits in pride of place in my lounge room bookcase.  Seeking repose on a winter's night before a fire there is nothing so refreshing a to dip into the handsome bindings of my Cowper's Works.

Engraving from Cowper's Works of his house at Weston